And the shivering soldier in the trenches stood,
With his dripping clothes to chill his blood.
And the noble officer brought up with care,
In his wet and dismal tent, without dread or fear;
Or a covering party with their rifles in hand,
Marching to the trenches a melancholy band.
Or, when in camp without fire or mill,
To roast their coffee or to grind it, still
The commissariat to economise expense,
Issued the troops green coffee! to show their sense.